


i can tell that we are gonna be friends

by hawrthiacoopri



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Gen, M/M, Modern AU, elio is cute, elios a pianist who works with choir teacher oliver lebowitz, its gonna get way more so, oliver is enamoured, this is purely self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-30 18:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawrthiacoopri/pseuds/hawrthiacoopri
Summary: Mr. Oliver Lebowitz wasn’t in the habit of taking credit for fortunate mistakes, but he thought he might want to take credit for this one, because this one was beautiful.-in which elio is oliver’s pianist putting himself through music school and oliver is the high school choir teacher with a crush





	1. meetings

**Author's Note:**

> title is from a white stripes song
> 
> i havent written in months so we’ll see how this goes

Mr. Oliver Lebowitz wasn’t in the habit of taking credit for fortunate mistakes, but he thought he might want to take credit for this one, because this one was beautiful. 

He stood in the threshold of his classroom awkwardly, holding his hot coffee cup gingerly; just watching the kid who was newly perched on the piano in the sound-padded choir room. Oliver’s sound-padded choir room. He was secretly hoping that the young man wasn’t real, or was a student who was fooling around before school (because god knows he looked young enough to be a student, it made even the 26 year old Oliver feel aged), because if the boy was who he thought he was going be, Oliver wasn’t sure he was going to ever going to stop kicking himself. 

Oliver was a teacher at one Ballard High School, Seattle, Washington. A choir teacher, to be exact; and a very good choir teacher, if you asked his students to be even more exact. He loved his job. He loved singing, loved teaching, loved performing… the only part he didn’t love was the piano. He really, really hated the piano. Hated it. He wasn’t deft enough to play complex pieces, wasn’t confident enough to try to play the loud ones. It was getting in the way.

So three years ago, Oliver had went to the PTA and asked for a significant raise in the choir department’s budget so that they could hire a pianist to help Oliver day to day and at concerts.

He got the funds. Of course he did, because middle aged women never could resist a little flirting. He wasn’t ashamed of his tactics. He’d gotten what he wanted- a great accompanist so Oliver himself wouldn’t have to plink through the twenty or so pieces a year that his choir did. Her name had been Mrs. Davis, and they’d gotten along fine. Mrs. Davis was great at her job, kept quiet when he was teaching sectionals, and helped Oliver whenever he needed it. But because the universe hated Oliver and bad things happen to good people, Mrs. Davis had gotten very sick. Too sick to play piano. She’d told him she’d find him a new accompanist, but Oliver had commented that he sorely doubted anyone else would work as well with him, and thanked her  
for the offer. 

The whole summer he’d had, and he procrastinated until the very last minute. Literally. The night before the teachers were supposed to come and set up, he’d gotten a call asking who was going to be his pianist this year. He’d said he didn’t know: that he was busy. The fussy attendance lady had said she believed him, and told him that the PTA had a backup anyway and he’d be fine. He could feel the ‘I’m doing you a favor because I think it’ll make you like me even if I’m twenty years older than you’ drip from her words, and had just thanked her and hung up without a second thought. 

Now, standing there, looking at the kid who was supposed to be his partner in crime from the next ten months, he wasn’t sure whether to be glad he’d put it off for so long. 

On one hand, Oliver wasn’t sure of this kid’s personality, his level of skill in piano, his age, even- he knew almost nothing about him, which was bad material for an assistant. You needed to get along with the people you worked alongside. 

But on the other hand, Oliver had to admit- this guy was beautiful. Like, absolutely gorgeous type beautiful. He looked almost like a Waterhouse painting, all curly brown hair and smooth, pale skin and angles. Oliver could see even from where he was standing. There was some sort of mystique to him that piqued the teacher’s interest. He wanted desperately to both turn heel and go far away from there and to get to know this creature. 

He cleared his throat. 

The boy looked up

(because that’s all he is, honestly, a boy)

and smiled, a tiny, eye-crinkling deal that made Oliver’s heart melt just a bit. He looked surprised that anyone was there, but he took it in stride.

“Morning,” he said simply, getting up and making to shake Oliver’s hand. “Elio Perlman. I’m your accompanist, I suppose?” 

“I- yeah, I’d think so,” Oliver replied, starstruck by the ease and comfort the young man displayed. It felt like he was part of a big prank at his expense. “I’m Oliver Lebowitz, but you can call me Oliver if you like.” He cursed himself internally, because that was literally the most awkward and cliche thing to say, but Elio didn’t seem to notice, just nodding and making an “ok” sign. 

“Sounds good. I took a look at the pieces you’re looking at doing- great choice, by the way. Would you like to—?” He gesticulated to the piano and swept a lock of curly hair back into place with the rest of it’s brethren, looking up at the older man through his thick eyelashes. 

Oliver, who felt like he must be visually reeling with how enamored he was by this kid, was already sure that this kid was what he needed, but nodded anyway. And the moment Elio started playing, Oliver was transfixed. He kept it under wraps, never one to give others a sense of how he felt before he said it himself, but he was internally overjoyed; this kid played like he’d been born plonking notes on a toy piano, which he very well might have. The piece continued, Elio stopping once or twice to examine the trickier notes further and apologizing each time, and as soon as the ending chords sounded Oliver was patting him on the back as heartily as you could want. 

“That’ll do, man,” he said laughingly. “That’ll do.” Elio flushed a deep pink and thanked him for the kind words, before getting up and leaning against the piano’s back. There was a silence in which they observed eachother eyes all over eachother, and Elio soon looked poised to leave, but Oliver was determined to get to know him- he was going to be his pianist, after all. Oliver didn’t want to admit how much he already calling Elio “his” pianist. 

“Elio, is that Italian?” 

“Yes, it is.” Elio looked surprised that he’d guessed it so quickly, probably used to people guessing other random languages first.

“And Perlman is Jewish?” Oliver felt him instinctually bristle. 

“Yes.”

“Good. That makes two of us.” Oliver’s rogue hand found Elio’s shoulder again- God, it was taut, he should really get a massage

(why in the lord’s name is that what’s on your mind)

or something.

Another silence. 

Elio was the one to break it this time, with a, “I’m 19, by the way.”

“Huh?” Oliver wondered if this kid could read minds. 

“Just- people always ask.” He shrugged, probably used to everyone and anyone assuming that with his talent he should be older than he is.

“Ah-hah. Well, at any rate, can I get your phone number so we can keep in touch?” God, this felt so weird and first-datish in all the worst ways. Oliver hated the getting-to-know-you phase. He was much more interested in the other parts of romance. 

Elio started, maybe even having the same thoughts. “Yeah, totally. Let me just put it in my phone.” He whipped it out of his back pocket, looking expectantly at the taller man. Oliver dutifully listed it off and Elio nodded along, his slim fingers tapping it out with the same grace and elegance as he played the piano. Oliver watched more intently than he would have desired. “Do you want me to put your full name?” 

“Whatever you want, it’s no difference to me. You could name me Seabiscuit and I’d assume that as an alias.” Oliver knew even as he was saying it the joke was lame, but Elio huffed in the almost-amused-but-not-quite way teenagers always did, so he figured it couldn’t be that bad. He smiled as he checked his watch, really just as something to do, but he realized he really did have a lunch date planned with the rest of the fine arts department, and shrugged his jacket back on. 

“Listen, it’s been great meeting you, Elio, but I gotta jet. We’ll talk more later, okay?” 

“Sure.” Elio seemed unconcerned, just shrugging and getting his own coat as well. 

“Text me,” Oliver threw behind him as he walked out. “Later.” He couldn’t hear Elio’s response, if there was one. 

—

[Elio added number 202-555-0195 as contact “Seabiscuit”]

Elio (1:34):   
It’s Elio. Just   
texting you so  
you have my   
number.

Oliver (1:36):  
hey man. thanks   
for sending a text  
quick. most people  
at this school don’t  
know how their phone   
even works. 

Elio (1:37):  
I’m inclined to believe  
you, considering I saw  
my old history teacher  
when I was walking out  
and I thought for a second   
I saw a ghost.

Oliver (1:37):   
us young guys have got  
to stick together, lol

Elio (1:38):   
Judging from how you text,  
I pin you at around 23-25.  
Am I right? 

Oliver (1:38):   
you flatter me, elio. but i’m   
26\. 

Oliver (1:38):  
but now that you’ve asked  
and i liked your guesses  
better, maybe i’ll be 25   
instead 

Elio (1:41):  
Hey, 26 isn’t too shabby.  
You look good regardless. 

Oliver (1:45):   
i can’t wrap my head around  
the fact that you’re 7 years  
younger than me and so much  
cooler than me, lol. you look  
like who i wanted to be when i   
was 19 

Elio (1:46):  
If I hear that one more time  
I swear to god I’m going   
to burn my wardrobe.  
But thanks

Oliver (1:47):  
hah. understandable.

Oliver (1:47):   
ok, gotta run. the old people i  
work with are waiting on me.   
talk later. 

—

Elio flagged down a taxi, relieved to be getting in from the rain on the Seattle streets and into the warm car, and mumbled out his apartment address before losing himself in his phone. He tapped out a message to Oliver and smiled at the quick response. God, this guy was funny. And he was just as handsome as he was funny, if that was possible. 

And he was 26? That was ridiculous. He had got to have mistyped. Was ‘you look good regardless’ too forward? Maybe, but Elio didn’t really care. Well, he did, but it was really just a matter of shame. He really hoped this guy liked him; he’d tried to be as nonchalant as he could. 

‘You look like how I wanted to look when I was nineteen.’ God, that’s so cliche. Elio’d been told that about a trillion times. Not even Oliver could make that sound good. He typed out a quick response he hoped would nip it in the bud, thanked and paid the taxi, and got out of the car to rush to his dorm. 

“Oh, Elio, you’re home!” Vimini, his flatmate, chirped as he opened the door. “How was the teacher?”

Elio flopped on the bed and cracked his knuckles as he looked up at Vimini from beneath his bangs. “Can’t talk about it right now.” 

“Okay. We’ll talk later.”

Elio snorted to himself. 

Yeah.

Talk later.


	2. chatting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me get this straight: Your problem is that the teacher, a person you are going to see almost every day for the next, what, year, is hot. That’s literally your only qualm.” Vimini was sitting on her bed, looking at the boy sitting nestled between her legs with a cocked brow, lips pursed judgingly. 
> 
> “I- yeah, I mean, I suppose so, but you make it sound dumber than it is.” 
> 
> -
> 
> or, elio talks it out (kinda) with a friend, oliver hopes and prays, and some more good old halfassed text-flirting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is mostly filler so that we have character development and establishment before i move into the plot which i dont even have planned, oops, but i never plan fics so we’ll see. forgive any discrepancies in characterization for the first few chapters, ive never written a plot heavy/character centric arc for these two, so im finding my footing. 
> 
> ok ill stop rambling who even reads these things anyways

“Let me get this straight: Your problem is that the teacher, a person you are going to see almost every day for the next, what, year, is hot. That’s literally your only qualm.” Vimini said this through a mouthful of Chinese food, pointing her chopsticks at Elio accusatorily. She was sitting on her bed, looking at the boy sitting nestled between her legs with a cocked brow, lips pursed judgingly. 

“I- yeah, I mean, I suppose so, but you make it sound dumber than it is,” Elio protested. He was also eating Chinese food, though much with much less vigor than his roommate. “You make it sound trivial, but have you ever really worked with someone who looks like he plays superheroes in movies? It’s going to be distracting.” 

Vimini laughed. “You, my dear friend, are what is called a drama queen. I’d never complain about having a hot boss. That sounds like the dream.” 

“As if you’d understand having a hot boss.” 

“Hey, Doris is practically a grand-cougar. Let her be.” 

He wrinkled his nose. “That’s fucking disgusting. Don’t ever call her that again.” Vimini cackled back and kept eating her noodles so fast she was practically inhaling them. 

“You’re going to choke if you don’t slow down,” He observed absently as he looked up at her, her upside down face smilingly familiar and her long blonde hair falling into his eyes. “And your hair is in your food.” 

“Hair is just head noodles, friend.” 

“You’re not listening to me.” 

Vimini shook her head. “No, I’m listening, I’m listening! Go on!” 

Elio groaned. “God, fine. So, I was just waiting in the choir room expecting for some, like, old guy who’d call me son and shit. Not sexy at all, right?” 

“Well, maybe the son part.” 

“Stop. Okay, so I was expecting that, and instead I got this…” This what? this beautiful handsome sculpture of a man? What could he say that wasn’t incredibly embarrassing? He was scared to even say the words about loud. “He was just very. Handsome.” Elio shrugged automatically. Vimini just sighed. “What?” 

The girl shook her head tragically. “Yours is the hardest life, Elio Perlman. I hope you can survive this severe setback.” Elio started to get up on his elbows, using her knees as a place to push off, and she yelped. “Jesus, Elio, you’re so bony, that hurts! Warn a girl!” 

“Sorry,” He cringed. “I didn’t mean to. And anyway, I’m just telling you what happened.” 

They both stared at eachother for a second before Vimini’s wide, pretty mouth broke out in a wide, pretty smile. “You’re a goof, Elio Perlman. Come, we can cuddle until you feel better, if you want. Like old times.” 

Crawling into Vimini’s waiting arms and letting her cradle him, Elio knew he was much obliged to her. 

—

Elio (11:25):   
You up? 

Oliver (11:26):   
am now. whats  
up

Elio (11:27):   
Just wondering  
what the game  
plan is for the  
start of school.   
Do you want me  
to come in   
beforehand, or  
just on the first  
day? 

Oliver (11:27):   
you can just stay  
at home and chill  
until the first day.  
no worries. 

Elio (11:29):   
Sounds good.  
Hey, it’s been a few  
days and I hadn’t   
asked even though   
we’ve talked like every day, was   
your lunch with  
the old people good?

Oliver (11:32):   
good enough. you  
have a lot to learn  
about this staff, bud

Elio (11:32):  
Enlighten me.

Oliver (11:33):   
patience, young   
grasshopper. that  
will be part of your  
training in the first  
week

Oliver (11:33):  
for now, tell me about  
yourself. your names   
italian, are you from there?

Elio (11:34):   
My dad’s an ex-pat and  
my mother is Italian. I   
used to live there. I  
moved here for school  
and to help a friend.

Oliver (11:34):   
interesting. what college   
do you go to?

Elio (11:35):   
Just the UW. 

Oliver (11:35):   
really? uw is a great  
school and all but  
it’s not exactly what  
i imagined you to be  
going to.

Elio (11:36):   
I liked it there. They have   
a nice music department.  
And if I go there I can also  
study philosophy and the   
other subjects I want to take.

Oliver (11:37):   
how are you planning to  
do school and to be  
my accompanist both  
at once? thats crazy   
talk man

Elio (11:38):   
Luckily most of my  
classes are earlier than  
when school starts, and  
I scheduled a lot of them for  
the weekends and after when   
school gets out. I’ll make it work

Oliver (11:39):  
thats impressive dude. i   
admire the work ethic. 

Elio (11:39):   
You’d do the same if  
you were in my position.

Oliver (11:41):   
lol whats that supposed   
to mean?

Elio (11:42):   
Patience, older  
grasshopper. 

Oliver (11:43):   
point taken

—

Oliver didn’t mean to sound like a millenial waxing poetic, but there was something innately awesome about the fact that he could talk to Elio without ever having to see his face.

Not that he didn’t want to see Elio’s face, obviously; but he couldn’t talk and look at the same time. He was too scared he’d suddenly just start babbling like a maniac. 

Again, millennial waxing poetic, blah blah blah, but Oliver didn’t think that people like Elio existed outside of indie films. He really didn’t. The wit, the ethereal beauty, the intelligence- he seemed like some filmmaker had made his very own perfect boy and plopped him down in the middle of Oliver’s life. He didn’t know whether to thank the Gepetto who made him or curse them.

After all, how was he to focus on teaching when Elio was right there? It didn’t seem he could. Sitting pretty to his side, waiting for instruction, it seemed too good to be true. Oliver half-hoped this wasn’t the dream he thought it might be.

Just from the few texts Oliver and Elio had exchanged, he could tell they were compatible. They bounced off of eachother perfectly; there wasn’t pressure to get everything right. He hoped Elio felt the same. 

He wondered what Elio would think of him in the coming weeks; what kind of person he’d think he was, what kind of teacher he’d think he was… he hoped he was a good one. Elio was quiet as of yet and Oliver hoped it was a good kind of it. 

Oliver never really believed he’d find anyone who’d be as seemingly perfect for him as he thought Elio was shaping up to be. He was so, so happy, so pleased he and Elio were even getting along, but he wondered how this was going to work; they obviously couldn’t just hook up, that wasn’t exactly a great idea. Oliver wasn’t about to court Elio right off the bat, either. 

And anyway, Elio might not even return his feelings. He might think it weird or creepy, and grow distant if he knew. That was worse than being just friends. Oliver’s never want to make him uncomfortable… 

But God, did he want Elio to like him. He wanted him to think about him and want him near and desire him and they’d hardly been talking a week and a half. Elio’d sent recordings of his playing and they’d made jokes and conversations about books and TV, but it had just felt… special. Like destiny. 

One week until school started.

One week until he’d get to start to see Elio every day. 

He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!   
> thank you for commenting!
> 
> ig: @shalom.rose  
> twitter: @itshebrew4peace

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this!  
> thank you for giving me feedback! 
> 
> find me @shalom.rose on instagram or @itshebrew4peace on twitter


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